


(At Least They'll Know) I Had a Heart

by DisasterSoundtrack



Series: Kill a Liar [5]
Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: Angst, Drag Queens, Established Relationship, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:18:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterSoundtrack/pseuds/DisasterSoundtrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time we ever shared a bed, it was by accident. We were watching a movie and fell asleep before it ended.</p><p>In the morning, the only thing left of Trixie was a pair of forgotten hotel slippers. Or so I thought, until I went to the bathroom and saw a faint shape of a heart, drawn in pink lipstick on the mirror's surface. It looked like someone (Trixie, probably) tried to erase it as an afterthought, but did a poor job of it and left the mess behind anyway. I stared at my face in the mirror, surrounded by the smudged heart, for a few minutes, smiling like an idiot and thinking about the idiot who drew it for me.</p><p>(Also know as the one with the first fight, a black shirt and finding something in Mexico.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	(At Least They'll Know) I Had a Heart

**Author's Note:**

> This one is dedicated to my lovely friend Diana.
> 
> Title stolen from _I Had a Heart_ by Real Friends. Enjoy!

Trixie arrives from Canada angry.

He's standing in his own doorway soaking wet, with a bloody red scratch along his right cheek and neck, with just a duffel bag, luggage missing. He's angry when I open the door of his LA house where I've been staying by myself for the last couple of days, angry when he dumps the duffel bag to the floor and we both hear something inside of it shatter, angry when I try to kiss him hello and he ducks.

"So this is the game we're playing tonight? Okay." I pin his wrists to the wall with my hands, pushing him, nearly knocking over the coat hanger in the process.

"We're not playing anything. I'm tired and I'm pissed. Let go."

"No." I've missed him too much to be able to control myself in this moment. "I'm the Alex Trebek of drag, I'm always playing."

I bite down on Trixie's lower lip, feeling him inhale sharply. I force my tongue inside his mouth. He winces. Now, I've gone too far to stop. I'm speeding past the red lights now.

Trixie kisses me back, of course he does, but with ten times less eagerness than I expected.

"Katya. Please. Please. Do we have to...?"

"Am I doing something wrong?" I try to keep my voice steady, my gaze on the prize, my dick in my pants. For now.

He's looking at me, eyes glazed, expression defeated like the entire world's worries are resting on his shoulders. For a second I want to hug him, but then me and my dick remember three long weeks of separation and I just want to fuck.

"No, I just -"

"Then fucking stop this, okay? Let me make you feel good, and shut the hell up."

And so he does. Something raw and livid flashes in his eyes when he decides to grab my butt, turn us around and slam me against the wall with all the power he can master after a 6-hour flight. Our teeth bump together and he wants to pull away but I won't have that. I'm holding him tight by the neck and we keep on kissing, but he's angry and now I'm angry too, tasting blood from a split lip that's probably mine, but I can't really tell the difference anymore. The rain from his clothes starts soaking up mine, so I begin to tear them off, revealing a new layer of anger boiling up inside him.

"You want this, cunt? Do you? Take it. Take me, slut."

"I'm going to. I'm going to make you scream, Tracy."

He bites hard on the soft flesh of my neck right after I brush my fingers against the tender mark on his cheek (he got scratched by some stranger's baby at the airport. Tough luck). I want to scream, scream at him, scream at myself when he squeezes my revealed nipples so that my breath hitches a little. Seizing his lips again seems like the only reasonable solution. I have to bend him to my will somehow, because he's way too feisty for me to handle. Where did all of these emotions come from? I had no idea a short, simple conversation on the phone while he was at the airport, waiting for his luggage, could rile both of us up like that.

There's no point taking this to bed. My naked shoulderblades are brushing against the wall, cold, Trixie's groin pressing close between my hips, hot. We're making out in the hallway, scratching, biting, and I feel like I'm speeding down the freeway with my brake lines cut. Call the police. Call an ambulance.

In minutes, I have Trixie on all fours on his wooden floor, shivering and whimpering while I'm working him open with just my fingers covered in some spit.

"How do you like that, bitch? Huh? Enjoying that?"

"Fuck. You", he strains through gritted teeth, but he turns his head to look at me and there's challenge in his eyes. I grind my hard dick against the back of his thigh, still fingering him, but I know I'm going to lose ( _it, him, my mind?_ ) pretty soon.

When he's moaning, spilling nonsensical curses, I'm not sure whether it's pain, pleasure or something in between and it's not like we've never danced the line before; it's just that for the first time it feels somewhat wrong. I'm not fucking a random trade I picked up after a gig; I'm fucking my boyfriend and I'd have to look into his eyes in the morning.

"Don't you dare stop now", he grabs me by the hand and that shakes me out of my thoughts. He's wet and delicious right in front of me, so I can't resist dipping my tongue in, but just for a taste, just for a few short, teasing seconds. "Please, Brian, please", Trixie is a mess, begging, barely holding up.

"Please what?"

"Fuck me or let me fucking die."

"Fine, just - just lie on your back. I want to see you. Want to see your face."

And I do. I see his face as he lies down, a clumsy movement in which he hits his elbow on the floor. I see the pain reflected on his features but it's like he doesn't even care anymore while he hooks his legs high, around my neck. He's pink in the cheeks, the red scratch still standing out, sweat running down his temples.

"Brian. Brian, Brian, oh fuck, oh my God, oh fuck." We're rocking together now, back and forth, our short movements sending pleasant impulses through my entire body. Trixie's legs are nearly suffocating me.

When he runs his nails up and down my arms, leaving scratches, I make sure to mark the inside of his thigh with my teeth. His yelp makes something inside me shatter, so I come, endless waves, not even touching Trixie's dick, but he's touching himself, so at least that's alright, and with the other hand he's still scratching my arm, giving me a mark just like the one he has on his cheek.

He's coming right after I finish, looking right at me, biting his lip, nails drawn in the flesh of my bicep, making me cry out along with him.

Between our heavy breaths as we lie in a hopeless tangle on the cold floor, I can hear the clock ticking in the kitchen.

We have made such a mess of things. "Up", says Trixie. "I'm gonna take a shower."

I'm naked, so fucking naked when he leaves me there, no kind words, no kisses, not even a fucking pat on the back, and it feels so damn wrong. I know that now.

"What did you do? What the hell did you do?" He throws the words my way before he disappears behind the bedroom door, and they sting. They sting really bad. What the hell did I do?

I don't know.

*

I'm wrapped up in a blanket, curled on the bed and sniffling slightly, listening to the sounds of water running in the bathroom.

I know shame pretty well. I know regret, too. They're wrapped around me tighter than the blanket right now. Trixie has two framed photographs on his bedside table: one is his with Trannika and Kim in Barbie t-shirts, another one is of me in busted drag, with a colorful cocktail in an LA bar, showing off my platform jellies. The shame about what I've just done swallows me whole and I want to strangle the stupid, grinning me from the photo.

Trixie comes out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. I didn't turn on the bedroom lights and he doesn't do that either. I'm scared to even look at him. When he lies down, facing me, and touches the side of my face, I lean into the touch and breathe a gigantic sigh of relief.

"I am so, so sorry, baby. I shouldn't have, I know I shouldn't. You were angry and I was - I'm terrible. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Don't be. It's not like I said no." He sits up, legs crossed, looking down at me, caressing my arm where the marks left by his nails still remain. "Are you hurt?"

"Me? No. Are you?"

"No. But I think we should talk."

"Oh no." The words that everybody who's ever been in a relationship lives in fear of fall upon me. "You know I'm bad at this. _We're_ bad at this. We've never even had a fight."

"Maybe we should have a fight." His voice doesn't sway even a little. His face is grey in the shadows.

"We don't know how, Trix."

"I think we should have a fight", he repeats, so I sit up to face him. Okay. Let's do that.

"Fine."

"Fine." Trixie adjusts himself to sit straighter, and takes a breath audibly. "Why don't you wanna move in with me?"

I knew it was going to be his first and primary argument. I knew that from the moment he called me from the airport after he landed and asked me that again, and I said "No, I don't know, maybe? I have no idea. I don't think it makes a lot of sense to be honest." I've made him angry. I've disappointed him. I'm disappointing myself, too. I've been allowing bad emotions build upon bad emotions instead of talking to Trixie, explaining myself and how I feel, because I feel too much and too often and all at once and I don't even know where to start.

"I'm scared."

"Scared?" He runs his fingers through his damp hair. "You spend lots of time here anyway, or me at your place, and if we don't, we travel. Why would moving to LA scare you? I don't - Katya, I don't understand."

"It's not - I don't know how to explain it to you, fuck." I desperately need to smoke.

"How about you try."

"This is - sometimes, this is just too much to handle. This, us, you and me suddenly being something else than other things, something real, and sometimes I'm just in the middle of the street losing my breath and I have to sit down because I'm so fucking scared, Bri. Scared that I'll fuck everything up, look, I'm fucking it up now."

"No, Katya, you're not, you're just not making any sense! Why wouldn't you tell me earlier that you feel this way? How the fuck...? How was I supposed to know?"

"You know I'm going to be an addict for life, right? I'm a fucking broken trash of a person - no, don't say I'm not because we both know that - and with you it's like, like a new addiction, you know? Worse than crack, worse than vodka, because every other night I wake up in the middle of the night with this dreadful itch in my veins, have you ever felt that?" I'm tearing my own hair out right now, not sure if I'm supposed to look at Trixie's suffering face. "I can't go back to sleep no more and I keep thinking, did I turn the dishwasher off? I mull this in my head over and over until I finally get up and realize I didn't have any dishes to wash because I can't fucking cook."

"So you're telling me I'm making you feel bad."

"No, babe. I panic and I'm scared of making _you_ feel bad."

"Oh my God." Trixie is still sitting cross-legged, unmoved, but his voice shakes the tiniest bit. "Remember when we went to the movies last time?"

" _The Martian_. Yeah."

"I put my hand on the armrest between us and fucking left it there for the entire movie, and you never held it."

"Trixie..."

"No. I was waiting for you to fucking hold my hand, and you never did. That made me feel bad."

I don't know what to say to that. Excuses would just make me sound so pitiful. "I'm sorry."

"It's all just making me think maybe you don't want any of this."

"I do, Trix! I do! I just get confused, okay? And overwhelmed. I am confused now. That's why I can't move in here."

Silence falls upon us until Trixie starts making a weird noise and I just observe his entire body beginning to shake. I have an absurd notion that he's laughing hysterically, but that's until he holds his palm up to his mouth and I notice the tears running quickly from his eyes. I try gripping his hand, but he shakes me off.

"Don't. Fucking don't. I was - I was fucking looking forward to having a place together with you. Here, or I don't know, anywhere would do. Waking up in a home together in the morning and all that cliché shit, you know? You can blame me all you want, Katya, this is the truth. It sucks you don't want this. It sucks." I can barely understand what he's trying to say because of all the tears.

"Babe, please. Slow down for a second."

"No. I don't think I can go on without moving on, you get me?"

"I do. Trixie, I do." For a while all I can hear is him, crying into a towel, and I finally manage to grab a hold of his hand. "I think we should break up."

Once the words are out there, there's no stopping them. There's no taking them back, even though they don't seem as rational as they did half a second ago.

Trixie stops crying. He looks right at me, shocked for a blink of an eye, but then stone cold. "Yeah, no shit."

I start shaking for no reason, thinking about how feeling bad and disgusted with myself for the last two weeks culminated in this ultimate experience of feeling The Worst™.

Trixie lays his hands in my lap, squeezing briefly, but then changes his mind and keeps the hands to himself. "I guess we finally had our fight, huh?" His voice sounds eerily quiet.

"Yeah, that was... intense." Also fucking dreadful and the acidic bile from my stomach is not going anywhere.

"I think I'm gonna sleep on the couch." He gets up swiftly and grabs one pillow and a blanket before I manage to stop him.

"No, come on. It's your house. I'm gonna take the couch."

"Oh, sure. _My_ house." His words are dripping with sarcasm. "I'm taking the couch. Night, Brian." Trixie leaves, closing the door on me, and I have no idea what in the world just occured, but it keeps me awake until my phone runs out of battery power and dies while I'm watching another stupid Youtube video, trying to ignore the nagging thought in the back of my brain, _do something, you hopeless idiot._

*

A cloudy morning comes creeping in and greets me with the sight of Trixie in bed next to me anyway, holding my left hand and playing with my fingers. His sadness is radiant.

A feeling suffocates me; this is it, the defining moment. This is the only chance I get to make this right. I try remembering the speech I made up in my head last night, but the words scatter like a 1000-piece puzzle and I never manage to pick them up in time.

"Do you want to tell me something?"

We're lying next to each other now, hands locked, chests rising in different rhythms. I try to pick a sentence to say from everything that's running through my head, _I hate myself, I love you, I'm sorry, I forgot to water your plants, I booked the early plane again._

"Will you take me to the airport?"

"Just fucking talk to me, Katya. Please. Okay? Just talk to me, God damn it."

The frustration I'm feeling right now clouds all my other emotions. "I'm trying to! I really - I'm trying, fine?"

"It's just not working?"

"It's not."

Is this how all big things end? Not with a bang, but with a whimper? Was this ever a big thing after all? Maybe we were both delusional. Maybe we gave it our best shot, but were meant to fail. Time passes and we just breathe, together for a few more minutes, trying to accept the reality of the situation. Then Trixie simply gets up and gets ready to leave for the airport, so I do the same thing.

We ride in silence, LA appearing weirdly peaceful to me. "Do you want to make one last memory, Trix?"

"Like what?" He looks at me, tired, resigned.

"I don't know, like, tee-pee Raja's house, or hide in someone's dumpster, pass out on La Cienega or walk into a Hilton with no shoes on, you choose."

He just shakes his head. A small gesture, but there's so much contempt in it I almost choke.

After I check in all my luggage, we're standing on the bright, shiny airport floor, so many people passing by, and this is a disaster I haven't expected I'll have to deal with. Our death is a peaceful one, very different from our birth.

"So that's it?" Trixie asks, holding one hand in my hoodie pocket. "Are we over, Brian?"

"I don't know. I think - I guess we are, yeah."

He swallows. His hand in my pocket splays on my waist through the fabric, and he leans in, closer. His eyes are so brown and I love him so, so much. "You can stay", he whispers. "Just say you wanna move in and all of this is cancelled. We go home and forget this fight ever happened."

The bad voice in my head tells me this is exactly what I should do, but the other voice is screaming louder. _You're a useless partner, stop hurting Trixie._ "I can't, baby. You know I can't."

"Okay. Okay. I'm sorry." He wants to move away, step back, but I grab onto his hips and pull him closer, making sure it's alright if I kiss him, but he does it first. Our lips slide against each other in a way that's the same but different each and every time it happens, but this time it's not comforting or sweet or sexy; it's final. It's like looking straight at Ru on the main stage, nothing standing between you and all your fuck-ups, cameras and lights ready to amplify your every little flaw while you're patching yourself up with second-rate cotton. It's still electric, causing the hair on the back of my neck to stand up, disturbing my breathing pattern, but it's also absolutely sickening to look into Trixie's eyes afterwards, knowing what I'm leaving behind.

"Go. Go now, have a good flight, be happy", he lets go, I'm shamelessly wiping the tears from my eyes and maybe it's not as peaceful as I thought it was; maybe it's yet another day at the end of the world.

So I go. I have a good flight.

I can't say I'm happy.

*

Life goes on until something stupid triggers an avalanche of little failures. Like that day which starts with me taking a bath, and a book I'm reading falls into the water. By some unexplicable forces the day ends with me covered in cat fur on my friend's living room carpet, and my friend doesn't even own a cat. Or that other day when I decide to try macadamia nuts and it turns out I'm alergic to them, and I end up in an emergency room at 11 PM, between a homeless guy and a teenager giving birth, my tongue suffocating me.  
  
There's also that day Detox and I are performing in London and _Barbie Girl_ starts playing backstage. It's good that I have my make-up mostly done by then, because my hands begin to shake so damn bad I can't even finish my lips. Thankfully, Detox does them for me without asking any questions.  
  
Yeah, that day. We don't speak about that one.

*

In Mexico, tips stick to the sweat gathering on my fake cleavage. It's all clumsy, stuffy hot and delightful.

In Mexico, the fans scream my name almost as loud as in Brazil, so I pound my vagina into the stage for them extra hard.

In Mexico, I find myself smiling without feeling the emptiness trying to swallow me. I feel like my face is not going through some contortions; I feel like normal people do sometimes.

In Mexico, I stumble into my hotel room at 4 AM, grinning, giggling, wig almost falling off. The mood holds onto me until I open my wallet to put away the rest of the tips and a folded Post-It note falls to the floor, landing next to my heel. I pick it up and unfold it with trembling hands.

_Went rollerskating. Gonna get some food too._  
_You need your beauty sleep!_

_I love you ❤_

_B._

In Mexico, all of a sudden there's nothing left for me but kneeling on the floor, clutching the pink piece of paper close to my chest, fighting for every breath and swallowing salty tears. The sweetness of that memory, a bright day not even that long ago, comes back to me in waves. ( _His smile when we ate Chinese in the kitchen. My hand in his, gripping impatiently, when we waited for results from the clinic. Our night excursion to the beach, and how I felt invincible._ )

Life is full of beautiful places and terrible feelings, and sometimes you experience all at once.

*

Happiness is real, I know that. I felt it.

Maybe it was fleeting. Maybe it was based upon a lie. Maybe it was stolen, undeserved, and shallow.

But it was real, and it was mine. I still have that photostrip of me and Trix making out in a club photobooth, and I know it was real that day, and many days before and after that.

Why did I ever give it up?

* 

My phone goes off at some ungodly hour. At first I try not reacting. I pick it up after the caller doesn't give up and calls for the third time.

"Brian", slurs Trixie from the other end of the line, "how the fuck did we ruin a good thing?"

How the hell am I supposed to answer that at 5:30 in the morning, forcefully yanked out of delicious sleep, the blissful state of no emotions at all? How the hell am I even supposed to gather my thoughts when I'm hearing his voice for the first time in weeks?

"Babe. Have you been drinkin'?"

"No. Maybe. Just a lil' bit."

I know "a little bit" is always enough for him, and that "a little bit" is always a lie. "How much?"

"Just s'm wine. A bottle."

"An entire bottle? By yourself? Baby. You cannot take this much, you know."

"Why t'fuck would you care?"

I don't know. I do, because I'm human, and it's humanly impossible not to care for Trixie. It's humanly impossible for me not to love him, and not to want better things for him than this draining relationship with me. I might not be a ruin anymore, but I'll also never be a whole person again. It's okay. I'm the only one who should deal with that. I guess.

"We messed up a good thing, Brian", he repeats, a broken record on the other side of the country, and I know we did. We messed up real bad.

I fucked up. My anxieties, my uncertainty, my fear. I fucked us up, and I don't know how to unfuck us.

"We would kill each other, you know", I decide to say instead of voicing my inner battle. "Sooner or later. We'd be like beached whales, dying ashore, with salty waves washing over us softly. _Swish, swish_. Dying."

He chuckles. "This is so fucked up, Kat. Fucked. Up." A pause. "Sorry if I woke you up. Did I?"

"No, Bri. I was dusting my bookshelf."

"You filthy liar. G'night, beached whale." I can hear the sound of an empty bottle being put down on the floor.

"Night, my plastic wonder. Don't drink anymore."

Trixie hangs up. I can imagine him being in the room with me, crawling into bed, cuddling against my back, smelling like this pink semi sweet wine he likes so much, whispering the final "goodnight" in my ear. Imagination only goes so far though.

Dreams take care of the rest.

*

So we're on talking terms, again. He calls me quite often like we'd do before, when we were separated, or even prior to us becoming a thing. I call him, too, and we simply dish and laugh together, talk about our days or ideas or anything. It would feel weird not to.

But it also feels weird to do that. There's always something missing, some final three words goodbye, _I love you_ or _I miss you_ , and some topics are carefully avoided. I have no idea whether he's seeing anyone already. He has no idea I once spent hours picking guys on Grindr only to get frustrated and delete the app entirely.

We talk, but we're walking on eggshells.

Still, I'm in a dressing room with Jinkx in Seattle once when Trixie calls, so I spend 15 minutes on the phone, maybe the tiniest bit too obnoxious, maybe laughing a notch too loud.

When the phonecall ends, Jinkx stops doing her eyes and glances at me in the mirror, smirking.

"You guys are so in love I can feel myself becoming diabetic."

Maybe I said too much. Maybe too little. Maybe Jinkx is just very, very smart.

I decide to stick to my guns.

"I know! Guess I can't help it."

"You're very lucky. Both of you." Jinkx starts searching for eyelash glue and my face falls. Yeah, very lucky. We _were_.

*

They interview me the next afternoon, my eyes rimmed red from shamefully having spent half the morning crying. I'm doing amazing until the stupidest of all questions is asked. _Which RPDR queen would you kai kai with?_

I can't make a 180 turn and out of the blue say Pearl, or Willam, or Jasmine Masters. But I also can't say Trixie.

I say Trixie anyway.

"I would not only kai kai with her. I'd kai kai, kiki, marry, divorce, murder... Then, kai kai with her dead body." 

I try keeping it light, Katya always does. Katya's always stunning, silly and never gets tired; Brian gets tired quickly and a lot, and Brian is the one who comes back to his hotel room to cry a little while packing, then cry a little in the airport bathroom, and finally, unable to fall asleep due to being just too damn tired, cry a little on the plane, too.

*

It hits me when most of my clothes are in the laundry and then I leave the bathroom after a shower, looking for something to wear. I open my closet and it's full of reminders. My better days of the past stare at me. I'm cold, vulnerable and in desperate need of comfort and some warm clothing, so I pick at random, and pull out a black denim shirt.

I don't mean to be wearing Trixie's clothes; it just happens. The shirt sticks to my slighty wet back nicely. It smells like his deodorant and a hint of bubblegum, so it smells just like him. It smells like so many hotel room nights, like prolonged airport transfers that make your back hurt a lot, like playing video games sitting on the floor in his LA house, like that backstage in Chicago where I used up his bottle of hairspray.

Sitting on the couch with the shirt on, but unbuttoned, I open my laptop and log on to my e-mail account to maybe accomplish something today. Three minutes in, the smell still ruling my head and my senses, I decide to text Trixie instead.

**From: Katya**  
**To: Plastic Whore ❤**

I'm wearing your black shirt. Smells like you

 

**From: Plastic Whore ❤**  
**To: Katya**

What else would it smell like? Maybe those mothballs your granny once gave you.

 

**From: Katya**  
**To: Plastic Whore ❤**

Lies and vicious rumors

 

**From: Plastic Whore ❤**  
**To: Katya**

What do I smell like anyway?

 

**From: Katya**  
**To: Plastic Whore ❤**

Lemongrass and bubblegum

 

**From: Plastic Whore ❤**  
**To: Katya**

Nice :) :) :) you smell like cigarettes and disappointment

 

**From: Katya**  
**To: Plastic Whore ❤**

_Z'dorawa!_  Glad to be of service.

 

These days and nights, I mostly work. I get busy, kill all the thoughts, throw myself out there. I'm okay as long as there's something to do. There are nights when I think I'm used to this empty feeling at the very bottom of my stomach like I'm hungry all the time, or scared, or resigned, or everything combined.

And then there are nights like this one, when I fall asleep on the couch, wearing Trixie's old shirt.

And these nights aren't even the worst. Not even close.

*

 _The first time we ever shared a bed, it was by accident. We were watching_ Grease _in my hotel room, our fingers dirty from nacho dust and cheese dressing. I remember Violet and Pearl and maybe Jaidynn were with us, too, but they left at some point, leaving just me and Miss Mattel. We fell asleep before the movie ended._  
  
_In the middle of the night, I realized we were sleeping in a tight hug, tangled legs, Trixie's breath on my neck, and I really didn't mind. I didn't feel like changing our position in the slightest._

_In the morning, the only thing left of Trixie was a pair of forgotten hotel slippers. Or so I thought, until I went to the bathroom and saw a faint shape of a heart, drawn in pink lipstick on the mirror's surface. It looked like someone (Trixie, probably) tried to erase it as an afterthought, but did a poor job of it and left the mess behind anyway. I stared at my face in the mirror, surrounded by the smudged heart, for a few minutes, smiling like an idiot and thinking about the idiot who drew it for me._

It's 3 AM when I wake up, Trixie's shirt soaked in cold sweat, and realize I never asked Trixie if he really drew the heart and why he tried to erase it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> To Be Continued, obviously! I would never leave you guys hanging like that.
> 
> I'm impatiently waiting to talk to you, here or on samrull.tumblr.com !

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [St Germaine Pink](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10022594) by [UnimpairedDreams](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnimpairedDreams/pseuds/UnimpairedDreams)




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